


your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's done this before, but Louis's got really small hands, and Nick. Well, Nick doesn't.</p><p>Schmoopy established relationship fisting porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this is probably someone else's fault, but I don't remember whose. Betaed and abetted by [rivers_bend](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend), who is fabulous in all ways.
> 
> Also fulfills the "subspace/headspace" square on my kink_bingo card.

Nick knows and respects how Aimee pines for American high school girl experiences sometimes, and generally they’re all game for a slumber party. Which is a good explanation for the hot pink nail varnish matted into the carpet in Nick’s lounge and the tiny braids sticking up every which way off Harry’s head. And now it’s two in the morning, and they’re all pretty blitzed, sprawled on the floor in a pile of blankets and Nick’s couch cushions. 

“Truth or dare?” says Aimee, leaning back against Ian’s chest, and Nick’s still getting used to Ian being a drunken slumber party friend in addition to a work friend, and it’s not at all clear who Aimee’s talking to.

Harry says, “Who?” first, a little slurry, like he always is this late, drunk or no.

Aimee points at him, her long nails the shocking color of Nick’s carpet. “Well, you now! Young Harold, truth or dare?”

Harry wrinkles his nose, and that’s not sexy, it isn’t, but it’s still taking all Nick’s willpower to not stick his tongue in Harry’s mouth right now. He has troubling fathoming a world where Harry doesn’t choose dare, but he’s cuddled so comfortably into Nick’s side that the thought of him getting up is vaguely painful—and Nick might also fall over. He squeezes Harry’s shoulder, and Harry says, “Truth,” and lets his head drop into the curve of Nick’s neck again.

Aimee, steeped in slumber parties of yore, says immediately, “Kinkiest thing you’ve ever done in bed?”

Harry hesitates, frowns, and Nick thinks through the list in his own head, the things he’s done with and to Harry. Light bondage, candlewax, nipple clamps (but only two of them), assorted silicone toys. “Fisting,” says Harry, and that pulls Nick up short. Because whoever’s had his hand in Harry, it definitely wasn’t Nick.

He tries to make his face neutral, but they’ve all seen, and Nick thought he knew a fair bit about Harry’s sex life before him, but this is new. And he wants to process it. Maybe while wanking. Maybe while wanking and making Harry tell him every single thing about what it was like, because he didn’t think there was anything more beautiful in the world than Harry arching up to take his cock, but Harry clenching down tight on his wrist might beat it. He thinks of throwing the rest of them out of his flat right this second, has no shame in his own home when it comes to Harry.

But he’d be a crap host to send them all off at this time of night, and anyway, the game seems to be gathering speed. When Nick and Harry stumble into Nick’s bed a couple of hours later, there is definitely mayonnaise on the hem of Nick’s jeans and something even stickier in his hair. But he manages enough coordination to get them both down to their pants, and Harry curls against him contentedly as Nick’s fingers tuck into Harry’s waistband, stroking the sweet upper curve off his arse. He’s not going to do anything about it tonight, but he may actually die if he doesn’t find out more about this fisting incident, and soon.

In the morning—and it is morning, even by the standards of normal people, because Nick’s body has forgotten how sleeping in works—he wanders through his flat in the silk robe Alexa bought him for his last birthday and takes stock of the damage. Apart from the nail varnish (and he needed new carpet anyway) and an afghan partly soaked in blueberry vodka, it’s not too bad. His hangover won’t hit him for a few hours yet, and Ian and Aimee don’t stir on the couch when Nick turns on the coffeepot, so he figures he has a few peaceful hours to interrogate Harry before he’s flat on his back moaning in the bad way.

He makes Harry’s tea, milky but sugarless as Louis taught him, and carries it and his coffee one-handed into the bedroom. Harry is in bed checking his phone, squinting sleepily at the screen. “Good morning,” Nick sings out, handing Harry his tea.

“You’re using your radio voice,” Harry whispers, flinching.

Nick pats at the rat’s nest of his hair. “Aw, pet. Have you got a headache?”

“You’re just really loud,” Harry says plaintively.

Nick sits down on the bed in front of him, sipping his coffee and being very quiet. Harry blinks slowly at him over his mug. “You look like you want to say something.”

Nick shrugs. He does, of course. He can’t stop thinking about someone with their hand in Harry’s arse, but it’s not the sort of thought that can go from his brain to his mouth unmediated. “Just stunned by your beauty as usual, popstar.”

“Don’t think so,” says Harry. Nick has no poker face.

“Who fisted you?” Nick asks, and Harry grins over the rim of his rug.

“How do you know I didn’t fist them?”

Nick has no good answer to that question. “Did you?”

“No.” He takes another slurp of tea and sets it aside. He licks his pretty pink lips.

“Harold, if you don’t tell me everything right now, I may die of curiosity.”

Harry runs his hands through his hair, shuffles it back off his face, and god, he’s actually blushing. “Louis has really small hands. And I just wanted to know what it would be like. It wasn’t like, I dunno, doing it with you.” He looks at Nick’s hands, and Nick wonders if he’s imagining it the way Nick is. Nick likes his hands, his long fingers, the span of them pressed against Harry’s skin, but he’s never tried anything like that.

“I don’t have small hands,” Nick says finally.

Harry’s smile is soft and sheepish. “Yeah. You don’t.”

And that’s that. Or it would be if Nick could stop thinking about it. But he can’t. He presses three fingers into the slick heat of Harry’s arsehole that night, and he doesn’t want to stop, rubbing his thumb against Harry’s stretched rim, wondering how much he could take. Harry’s watching his face as he opens to Nick’s hand, eyes bright with longing. “Nick,” he says, and his voice breaks.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Do you want to, like, keep going? I could take more.”

Nick does want that, wants it so much he nearly can’t breathe. But they can’t, not without talking it over properly first. Nick is trying so hard to be responsible with Harry, to act like a real adult in a real relationship. To not hurt Harry in any of the ways it would have been all too easy to do. He curls his fingers up, makes Harry whimper as he leans in to kiss him. “Not tonight, love. But maybe soon.”

“Want you,” Harry whispers, like it’s not obvious in every straining line of his body.

“You’ve got me.” Nick reaches out for a condom, rolls it on without looking, his eyes locked on Harry’s as he pushes into him. Harry’s wet, eager, working his hips up as his knees lock around Nick’s waist. Nick fucks him slow but hard, sinking deep into him each time before pulling back, Harry clenching tight around him, trying to keep him in. Nick nuzzles distracted kisses against the corners of Harry’s mouth, grips his hands around Harry’s arse to angle him for each thrust. Harry comes the moment Nick gets a hand on his hard cock, sobbing for breath and grabbing at Nick’s shoulders as he keeps rocking himself back, chasing that last little bit more.

Nick pulls out and tosses the condom away to wank himself over Harry’s heaving belly. He smears his come over Harry’s skin after, stroking down his sides, petting at the insides of his thighs, finally rubbing over his slick, swollen hole, resting one fingertip there. “Nick,” says Harry hoarsely. “Do we have to, like, talk about this? Because I want, fuck, you know what I want.”

“Not tonight,” says Nick again. He’s spent, exhausted, still feeling the day’s hangover behind his eyes and in his joints. He circles his fingertip against Harry’s hole. “But I want it too.”

*

Harry insists on watching him trim his fingernails, even though Nick is quite sure that’s weirder than anything else they might do tonight. He perches on Nick’s bathroom counter, long legs taking up too much space, knees in Nick’s way no matter how he turns. “This isn’t actually foreplay, you realize?” says Nick.

Harry gives him a quick smile. “Maybe not to you.”

“You are a strange child,” Nick tells him, watching Harry’s profile in the mirror.

“Does it ever seem weird to you that you call me a child when we’re sleeping together?”

“No,” answers Nick. “If Finchy can call me a child on national radio practically daily, you’re well up for it.”

“Fair enough,” says Harry, as Nick files off the rough edges of his nails. His breath catches as he watches Nick performing a perfectly normal action that millions of people do every day. And it’s, god, it’s unbearable, watching Harry get turned on by it, like he’s letting his own fantasies out on an unsuspecting world. But Harry wants this, sitting on Nick’s bathroom counter, squirming as though Nick’s doing something much more intense than some light grooming. Nick can’t help but appreciate his enthusiasm, and god but he wants to make this good for Harry, as good as Harry’s face tells him it could be.

Harry tells him about Louis when he asks, going pink-cheeked and short of breath at the memory. They’d tried a lot of things together, curious, greedy for new experiences once they had each other. This one they hadn’t even talked about; Harry had just asked Louis to keep going one night, three slender fingers stuffed into his arse and a fourth threatening. Nick could picture it, the way Louis must have looked, disbelieving but so turned on. “It felt so good, I didn’t even think about it, just that I wanted more, that I could take more, and I wanted him to give it to me.” Nick doesn’t mind hearing about the things Harry did with Louis, normally, but god, this has him squirming, wanting to lay Harry out and make him forget anyone else was ever there. “And when he kept going, with like, four fingers next, all tucked together inside me, I was so full, and it felt so good, and I was wondering if that was where we should stay because I knew I could come like that, and I didn’t know what it would be like with more.”

Nick's standing there dumbly, emery board in hand, just staring, listening to Harry talk. As a rule, Harry doesn't dirty talk, words coming slowly to him, requiring attention he doesn't have when Nick's touching him. But this comes almost easily, like he's thought about this story a lot, relived this experience. Nick's dick nudges the fly of his jeans. "Go on," he says softly, because Harry's gone quiet suddenly.

"You need to keep filing," Harry replies. "Because when I finish talking, I'm gonna need you inside me so bad, and you have to be ready."

"Jesus Christ," says Nick, taking a deep breath and a moment to stop his hands shaking. He goes at his fingernails with renewed purpose, smoothing them down short, letting Harry kiss each one of his fingertips after.

"I could see him looking at me when he had all of his fingers in me, and it, it didn't even hurt too much. Like, it wasn't too much. And I could see he knew." Harry's breath stutters, and he clears his throat. "So I asked him to. I was so wet. It didn't take that much. You'll have to be careful, with your knuckles. That's the hardest part, and your hands are big." He's said that before, sounding awed and scared and god, hungry for it. "But then it's just so full. And I could feel everything. It's going to be even more with you. Fuck, Nick, it's going to be amazing."

Nick’s done, and he holds out his hands for inspection, and Harry nuzzles a kiss into his palm. "Come to bed then?" he says, and Harry nods, letting Nick lead him back into the bedroom.

They’ve discussed it and Harry knows he can call it off anytime, but there still isn’t a plan, and Nick hesitates by the bed, watches Harry sprawl out on it like it’s easy, like it’s easy for him to trust this to Nick. Nick can’t even be trusted with more than one-third ownership of a sausage dog. Why on earth would he trust Nick to do something that Google informs him could cause serious internal injury?

Harry leans up on his elbows, frowning. “Do you not want to do this? Because we don’t have to. I don’t need, like, this specifically.” But he does. Nick can see it in his face, the way he needs to give in to something, that raw well of feeling inside him. Sometimes Nick holds him down, one hand pinning Harry’s wrists, and watches him go loose from it, watches him taking it. Sometimes he does more than that.

Nick crawls up over him on the bed, kissing the nervous set of his jaw. He can do this for Harry, take care of him like he needs to be taken care of. “I want you every filthy way I can think of. Just lie still now. Let me take care of some things first.” He rucks a hand up under Harry’s thin t-shirt, scratches at his belly. “Like how many clothes you’re wearing.”

“Oh yeah,” says Harry. “Definitely need fewer of those.”

Nick kisses him, over and over, nipping at his bottom lip as Harry goes quiet and easy under him, letting Nick settle in the spread of his thighs, his mouth opening. Nick tugs him up long enough to get his shirt over his head, presses a kiss to the wing of his collarbone, the bird wing just below it. Harry's eyes close and he arches into Nick's mouth, his hands curling over Nick's shoulders, his cock a hot, fat line in his tight jeans. Nick holds him down, fingers tightening on Harry's biceps as he sucks at his nipples, plucks at them with his teeth to hear the sound Harry makes.

Nick kisses the splay of the butterfly across Harry's ribs, nuzzles down to the waist of his jeans, mouthing at the “Might as well” and the thin hair below Harry’s bellybutton. Harry makes a little noise, and his hips shift restlessly. “Want me to get you off first?” Nick says. “Get you loosened up?” He presses his lips to the bulge of Harry’s cock, trapped by the zip of his jeans.

“Not yet,” says Harry.

Nick's shirt buttons yield to Harry's fumbling fingers, and Harry leans up to kiss him again as Nick works open the flies of his jeans. They're too tight to slide off easily, and Nick has to look down to tug at them, stripping down Harry's boxers along the way. He mouths at the damp head of Harry's cock, already hard and straining, and Harry murmurs out a please, doesn't even have to say what he's pleading for.

"You're a good boy, aren't you, Harry?" Nick says, licking across the head of his cock, watching the words go through him like some kind of magic spell, the way he goes loose for Nick, the way he wants to be good.

Nick doesn't have to use much slick to get his first finger into Harry, not with how he opens as soon as Nick touches him, relaxes into the pressure against his hole. He's so gorgeous when he wants it, his furrowed brows and pink cheeks and bitten lips. Nick kisses the bend of his knee as Harry lifts his legs higher, offering himself to Nick's slippery fingers. "Good boy," Nick says again, because it makes Harry whimper, and he strokes him slowly with one finger, twisted in up to the knuckle and then all the way out again, keeping it up for longer than he normally would, teasing until Harry can't keep from moving his hips, trying to get at more of Nick's hand.

When Nick works back in with a second finger, Harry's hard cock trembles and begins to drip against his belly. Nick stares down at the little pink mouth of Harry’s hole, swallowing his fingers.

He pulls out all the way, pressing his thumb to the openness of Harry's hole as he slicks his fingers again, presses three back inside with a messy sound of skin on skin. Harry moans as Nick twists them in him, feeling out the space he's made, Harry's body easing for them. He shouldn't think farther ahead than this, but as his knuckles press against the rim of Harry's hole, he can't help it, watching Harry take him and imagining how much farther they have to go.

He's so hard, and he's sweating in his unbuttoned shirt, the jeans that might squeeze him to death if he doesn’t get them off soon.

Nick uses his free hand to adjust himself, sees Harry tracking the movement lazily. "You're still dressed," Harry murmurs. "That's not right."

"Hmm," Nick replies. He has to give up his place between Harry's thighs to strip off his shirt, peel down his jeans and his pants. Just pulling the fabric down over his dick makes him shiver, and he cups a hand around it, gives one slow stroke, then another. He could get himself off now, make it easier to concentrate on Harry after.

But Harry moans out, "No," and reaches out for him. "Not like that." He presses one hand down between his legs, rubbing at his arsehole. "Please."

Nick leans in close again. "Please what, babe?"

"Fuck me. God, Nick, fuck me."

"Now?" asks Nick.

"Yeah. I'd like it first." He dips two fingertips into the slick of his hole. "You could come in me."

"Jesus Christ." It's not that they haven't ever, but the thought of coming in Harry and then opening him up all over again on his hand makes Nick's breath catch. He rubs his fingers along the inside of Harry’s thigh, and Harry closes his eyes, lets Nick soothe him. He’s still teasing at his own hole, taking little shuddering breaths.

After a moment, Nick brushes Harry’s hand away, smears more lube up the length of his dick, and presses into him without another word. Harry groans, cants his hips up, trying to take Nick deep faster, eyes flying open. But Nick holds Harry’s hips down, opens him up on just the tip of his dick before pushing further into him, letting him feel every inch of that slow slide. Harry’s breath comes in sharp sobs, and he’s so wet that Nick wants to just fuck him hard, gather Harry into his lap and make him bounce on his cock. But not now, not tonight. He works himself in and out with slow, rolling thrusts, and Harry’s knees squeeze around his hips, urging him on. “Please,” Harry’s saying over and over as Nick fucks him, and his dick is starting to slap wetly against his belly.

Harry doesn’t touch it though, keeps his hands on the bed because he’s a good boy, and he knows he should wait, and god, that’s hot, Harry trying so hard for him. Nick kisses the corners of his mouth, bites his bottom lip, whispers, “Shh, love, I’ve got you.” He’s close now, tension coiling tight in his belly, his balls slapping at Harry’s arse. He wants to be gentle, needs to be, lifting Harry’s narrow hips to fit them together even more tightly. One more deep thrust, and he’s coming, filling Harry up with it, making him even slicker for what comes next. His hands tighten, leaving small red prints in Harry’s pale skin, and he circles his hips, making Harry take every last splash and trickle of his come.

Harry’s still working against him, fucking himself on Nick’s oversensitive cock, and Nick can feel how close he is in the way his thighs shake. He pats at Harry’s trembling belly as he pulls out. “Shh, babe,” he says, “not yet.”

“Right,” says Harry. “Not yet. Not yet.”

He’s actually dripping this time when Nick slides two fingers into him, feeling him out, stroking at the puffy rim of his hole. Nick still feels tense, like it doesn’t even matter that he’s come, not while Harry’s still arching and moaning under him, begging him for more. He’s so gorgeous, falling apart on Nick’s fingers, opening up like he can’t get enough. Nick gets a third finger into him easily, curving them up to rub over Harry’s prostate, dragging a sharp whimper out of him.

“Too much,” says Harry, and Nick backs off, stroking him slowly again. His knuckles knock against the edge of Harry’s hole as he presses deep, and Nick stares, wonders how his whole hand could ever fit in that tight space. “I didn’t mean stop,” Harry adds. He’s flushed and shaky and his voice is small. Nick kisses his forehead.

“More?” he says, and Harry nods under Nick’s mouth. He pulls his knees up, tries to look down at Nick dripping more lube over his hand and feeding a fourth finger into him, the most Harry’s ever taken. Nick’s heart is beating too fast, and he can feel Harry stretching around his folded fingers, opening even wider under the pressure of them. And then suddenly he’s in to the widest part of his hand, and Harry gives a little, “Oh,” as Nick’s thumb strokes at the taut rim of his hole.

“Can you take more?” Nick whispers in a rush, overwhelmed by the feel of Harry around him, hot and slick inside, full of his come.

Harry blinks slowly, like the question is too much for him, but then he nods again, shuts his eyes and rolls his head against the pillow, thick hair going every which way. There’s sweat glistening in the dip of his collarbone, and Nick bends to lick it away, nuzzle there to feel Harry’s racing pulse under his mouth. He lets his thumb rest gently against Harry’s slick skin, waits a little longer because Harry looks so undone, just by this, just by the thought of more.

“So beautiful, babe,” he says. “You’re being so good for me.” He pulls partway out, tucks his thumb into the curve of his palm and pours more lube over his hand, lets it drip down his wrist. When he slides in up to the knuckle again, Harry flexes around him, opened up so wide he can barely move, and Nick twists his wrist slowly, letting Harry feel it, adjust before that last, deepest stretch.

And then he pushes, just a little, gentle and agonizingly slow, until Harry’s body starts to give for him, letting him in, the smooth pink rim of his hole gripping obscenely around Nick’s hand. Harry makes a shocked little choking sound, and Nick strokes his hip with trembling fingers, shushes him. “I’ve got you,” he says, and the length of his palm feels like miles as he presses more deeply into Harry’s arse. It’s easier now, but unfamiliar, and Harry is almost painfully tight, taking him in and in and in. And then that’s it, that’s all there is, and Harry’s arsehole is snug around his wrist, and Nick can feel Harry’s heartbeat through his fingertips.

He looks up, takes in the splay of Harry’s body against the sheet, relaxed and open for him; his cock half wilted against his belly; his closed eyes and the tears caught in his dark lashes. Nick’s made him cry before, a handful of times, taken him apart until he’s just sensation and need, but it’s scary every time, letting Harry trust him that much. “Good boy,” he says, and it makes Harry shiver, makes his cock twitch. 

Nick folds his hand slowly into a fist. Harry’s hole grips tight on his wrist, but inside he’s slippery-soft, opened up on the width of Nick’s hand. Nick rocks gently into him, and Harry sobs, starts to claw at the sheet. But his dick is fattening up again, and Nick knows this must be hitting him just right, making him feel so full. He twists his hand a little, rubbing Harry inside with his knuckles, and Harry squeezes around his wrist as much as he can. Nick feels lightheaded, watching himself move in Harry, the way he’s spread so wide. It’s not like fucking him, not like sex at all in a way, the slow, endless shift of it; Nick’s dick is starting to rise again, but it’s meaningless, he’s so caught up in Harry. And then Harry makes another broken little sound, says Nick’s name on a slurry breath. “’S so much,” he whispers. “I need to…”

And Nick can’t risk Harry coming like this, the way he’ll tighten down. “I know,” Nick says. “Let me get you there.” He starts to pull out, so, so slowly, the air chilly on his wet skin compared to the heat of Harry’s insides. It takes ages, up to the widest part of his hand again, Harry’s arsehole tugging at him, stretched muscles twitching. And on the next sharp pull, Harry cries out, instinctively tries to close his legs against the pain, but that’s the worst of it, Nick’s four fingers still inside him, Nick’s thumb stroking his swollen rim. Nick stays like that, and Harry’s chest hitches on a sob, then another, like he can’t help crying at the loss.

Nick leans down to kiss the bead of fluid from the tip of Harry’s cock, takes the head into his mouth and sucks gently as he pulls out of Harry’s arse, resting his fingertips against the hot openness of Harry’s hole. He rubs protectively over it, the slick mess of lube and come between Harry’s legs, and takes Harry’s cock deeper, letting it rub over the roof of his mouth, the bitter taste of precome dripping over his tongue.

Harry comes without warning, the tip of one finger pressed inside him, his cock nudging the back of Nick’s throat. Nick pulls back a little to swallow without choking, feels Harry’s hole flutter against his fingertip. And then Harry’s reaching out for him, clumsy fingers on his shoulders, and Nick slides up the bed to gather Harry into his arms. He’s still crying a little, and his heart is pounding as he settles onto Nick’s chest. But Nick just strokes his hair, kisses the top of his head, tells him how good he was.

He should clean them up, but he can’t let go when Harry feels so small and vulnerable in his arms, so he decides to live with it, go for a flannel once Harry falls asleep so he won’t know a moment without Nick there. He strokes up and down Harry’s back, petting him as his breath evens out, then slips out of bed. In the dark bathroom, he washes his hands, scrubbing between his fingers, strangely aware of the shape of them, the way they move and flex. He waits for the water to warm before wetting a flannel.

Harry murmurs sleepily as Nick runs it down the long furrow of his spine, into the sticky crack of his arse, over his puffy hole. He nuzzles into Nick’s chest again as Nick strokes him there, wriggling toward Nick’s hand even though he must be sore. 

“That was good,” Harry says hazily against his collarbone, and Nick knows he’s putting himself back together, settling in for the night. He’s safe like this, and Nick tugs the sheet up over them both.

“Amazing,” he agrees, not even trying to keep the fondness out of his voice. “You’re pretty amazing, popstar.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, and Nick can hear the smile in his voice. “I get that a lot.” He curls his arm around Nick’s side, fingers settling on his bare hip. Nick closes his eyes and falls asleep without another thought.


End file.
